Errand Boy
by karaokegal
Summary: My first LOM fic, written for the Merry Month of Masturbation at LJ. Chris thinks about Sam, touches the coat and eventually himself.


The boss was gonna get himself killed if he kept this up. The way he seemed to deliberately provoke DCI Hunt was nothing short of suicidal, if you asked Chris.

Of course no one ever asked him anything like that. No one asked his opinion about anything. Just told him to do stuff and fetch things. Like go back to the office and get DI Tyler's jacket, which he'd forgotten.

Not that Chris minded, really. They were doing a door-to-door in a bad neighbourhood and he'd just as soon take a few more minutes doing an errand than face what might be waiting inside any of those flats. No respect for the law, those blokes, none whatsoever. Just as likely to whack you in the face with a cricket bat as invite you in for a nice cuppa. The boss kept saying they needed to have respect for the population if they expected to be treated with any. Load of rubbish. It had to be. How could they treat the scum like anything but scum? That's what DCI Hunt would say.

The office was nearly empty, and he knew exactly where the boss had left his coat: inside DCI Hunt's office after the latest dust-up. It was frightening, watching those two go at it, but a little exciting as well. No one else could get the guv quite so worked up, make him red in the face and ready to go out and knock heads about.

He went into Hunt's office and found the coat on the floor. It was soft to the touch, the leather well worn. As he slung it over his shoulder, he caught a whiff of all the things that reminded him of DI Tyler. A hint of aftershave, the way he smelled when they'd been on a stakeout all night, and smoke. Except the boss didn't smoke. That was from hours spent in the car with DCI Hunt. Only they didn't have to use titles. They'd somehow become Sam and Gene, even when they were at each other's throats.

He thought of the boss's, of DI Tyler's, of _Sam's_ throat. His open collar and small medallion making it seem so vulnerable that he feared DCI Hunt would one day throttle him while they all watched. He didn't want to throttle Sam. He wanted, well, nothing queer. Just a bit of respect, like the public, right?

Respect, and a smile. Sam had a nice smile when you actually got to see it. Maybe an arm around the shoulder and a drink at the pub. And another smile. Like the kind he gave WPC Cartright when he thought no one was looking, only Chris was always looking, maybe more than he should, especially if he was going to have this reaction. Thinking of Sam and his throat made him come over all funny feeling in his trousers.

He ran his hands over the jacket and thought about walking back to Sam's flat, 'cause they'd both had a few too many and Sam's was closer and it wasn't like he'd do anything but sit there for a few minutes. Maybe watch Sam taking off the jacket and the shirt that went under it and even the shirt under that. But leaving on the medal. He liked that.

Chris locked the door to DCI Hunt's office. He didn't do things like this. Not at police headquarters. Not where anyone could find him. The boys would never let him hear the end of it. "Wanker" would be the nicest thing they'd say, and it would be worse if they knew what he was thinking about, but he had to do something or he'd never be able to go back out there and get the coat back to its owner.

Quickly. Sit down at the desk. Open the trousers, reach inside. Put the jacket over his lap and oh god, yes. He was walking slowly toward Sam and Sam was still smiling. Hands on his chest and mouth on his neck and it would just be so perfect, just to stand there and feel like Sam appreciated him. Respected him. Wanted him. Said his name…softly.

_Chris._

Bloody hell!

It was a near thing not to get any evidence on the jacket, but he managed. Wouldn't do for forensics to find something like that.

He was still wiping his hands off with some dodgy tissue from DCI Hunt's desk when he heard the banging on the door.

"What the hell's going on in there? This is no time to be taking a nap. Certainly not in my fuckin' office, you lazy bastard."

"Oi! Sorry. I was just picking up Sam…DI Tyler's coat. I must have….accidentally locked the door."

Could he sound like more of a twat? Did it matter, as long as he wasn't caught, erm…red-handed?

He opened the door to find DCI Hunt standing there looking typically pissed off and tried not to cringe as he walked past him.

"Skelton!" Hunt bellowed after him, and Chris fully expected to have his actions thrown in his face for the entire world to hear.

"Yes, guv?"

"You forgot the bloody coat."

"Oh. Yes. Sorry, sir."

He breathed a sigh of relief before running back to grab the coat and scurrying back to the door, just in time to hear the guv mutter under his breath, "Bloody wanker."

How on earth did he know?


End file.
